Make The Day Go Faster, Please?
by Basmathgirl
Summary: Being covered in some sort of treacle isn't fun; especially when nobody seems to care! Donna is decidedly miffed. And what did he call her?


**Warning:** Contains adult themes. And a fair bit of treacle.

**Summary:** The Doctor and Donna disagree how a planet treats Donna's part in a rescue; and is from a prompt set by redknightalex.

**Disclaimer:** I own a small portion of Doctor Who memorabilia only, the rest belongs to the BBC.

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**Make The Day Go Faster, Please?**

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Okay, this wasn't good. In fact, it had become decidedly bad very quickly. They had managed to save the Linpurdian people from the threat of the detplomendon. It had eaten sixteen of their people in a most unpleasant way, and they had rescued a baby from the nest of the detplomendon. The nest had been located in a bath of green sticky treacle that smelt as bad as it felt. To top it all, Donna had been volunteered to wade into the treacle and retrieve the baby in the first place. The Doctor had reeled off some scientific reason why it had to be her and not him, something about hormonal reactions that cause harmful fumes or other, and Donna had decided it was easier to just wade in and deal with it than argue for hours on end. She planned to have the argument later on, back on board the TARDIS.

So here she stood, caked in unrecognisable foliage clinging to the treacle that covered and absorbed into her clothing. It was not a good look for her. And to add insult to injury, the Linpurdians were congratulating the Doctor! She did not get a dicky bird from any of them! Not a sausage! Or barely a glance. She stomped away from him in utter disgust.

To her annoyance, he quickly caught her up about half a mile away from the village. "Whoa there, Donna!" he called out after her.

She turned and glared at him. "I am not a horse, so don't tell me to 'whoa'," she pointed out through clenched teeth.

"I thought you liked horses! Sorry, but have I upset you in some way?" he caught up with her, and placed his hands on her arms.

"Oh no! What ever gave you that idea? Could it be the fact that I marched off by any chance?" she pulled away from his grasp.

"What did I do then that was so bad this time?" he waited patiently for her answer.

"Hmm… let me see," she began to count on her fingers. "One, you let me wade into treacle! Green smelly treacle! Two, you used a load of technobabble to wuss out of doing it too. Three, you let the Linpurdians slap you on the back despite not doing a lick of work. And four, you didn't point out to them that I was the reason that baby was safe. Not you! Me!"

"Ah, about that last bit; there's a logical reason for it," he started.

"Oh, this had better be good," she fumed.

"They had the impression you were…," but he seemed reluctant to continue.

"Come on, out with it! What did they think I was?" she took a threatening stance, with her hands on her hips, a mere metre away from him.

"My…," he gulped, "odalisque."

"Well, that makes it perfectly clear. What the hell is an odalisque?" she demanded.

"A female slave, doxy or concubine," he stepped back slightly.

"Hang on, I've heard of a concubine. That means they think I'm your mistress!" Donna could feel her blood reach boiling point. "Do I look like some sort of tart to you?" her hand snapped out to slap him hard across the face.

Unfortunately, for Donna, the Doctor managed to choose that moment to duck, quite low, and Donna toppled over the top of him spectacularly and landed splat in the dirt, having rolled once beforehand. He scrambled desperately away from her as she gave a strangled cry, and pulled herself up onto her knees. There was almost steam visibly coming out of the top of her head, her eyes bulged and her face was the reddest he had ever seen it without sunburn being involved.

He knew he should have been completely sympathetic and rush to her aide; honestly, he knew that. He just did not do that. Instead, he tipped his head back and roared with laughter, until tears were running down his cheeks and his sides ached with the effort.

Donna drew her bedraggled self up to her full height and threw him the worst glare-of-death she had ever given him or anyone else. Such was its potency he immediately sobered up, and looked sheepishly at her. "Are you alright?" he asked half-heartedly.

"Just about. No thanks to you!" she shot back with all the venom she could muster. "When did you become so nimble?"

"What, you mean the ducking bit? I just thought that I'd erm… better learn to… er… get out of the way…you know?" he stammered.

"No, I don't know! Why did you feel the need in particular now?" she glowered.

"Self preservation?" he tried out hesitantly. "Honestly Donna, you are a bit predictable at times," he reasoned, "not that I'm saying you shouldn't or don't have the right to be annoyed; but still, I need to make sure, that…"

"… that I don't slap you from here until next Tuesday?" Donna offered as an answer.

"Yes, that's it!" He suddenly back-pedalled, "I mean, no, I wouldn't want to suggest…"

"Obviously," she replied drily. "Stands to reason, doesn't it? That your needs are far greater than mine. Fancy me imagining that being classed as a prostitute is far worse than you not dicking around!"

"Now, that's a bit harsh!" the Doctor protested. "I didn't make the assumption."

"No you didn't; but you also made no effort to correct that assumption, did you?" she glared yet again at him.

"Well, no, I didn't, but" he sighed, "I had to maintain my social standing here or risk being… "

"Treated like a woman?" Donna finished for him.

"Oh Donna, I don't see you as a second class citizen." He looked at her pleadingly, "You don't think that, do you?"

"No, but you don't seem to mind other people thinking that!" she scoffed.

"I do mind, honest, but I also have to be tolerant of other cultures." He took her hand, "There is also the fact that being seen as my odalisque gives you a certain social standing here."

"Are you sure it's me that gets the social standing, or you? 'Cos I'm not all that convinced." She looked him in the eye, "Why do you let it happen, eh?"

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I get carried away sometimes, you know I do."

"And it's my job to stop you when you do," she reminded him.

"Is it so bad being thought of as my odalisque?" he persisted.

"You certainly like that word, don't you?" she mocked. "I only mind because it isn't true. You should know me better than that."

"Come on then," he encouraged, "let's go home and get you cleaned up. You never know, we still have time to make you being my odalisque true." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he led them away.

"You idiot!" she swatted his arm. "You wouldn't be able to cope with me as your mistress, or obladee, or whatever you call it. You'd snap like a twig."

"Ah, now you're talking as if I'm made of wood, which I'm not by the way. But if I were I'd…," the sound of his voice trailed behind them as they progressed towards the TARDIS. They continued, happily putting forward counter-arguments and never coming to a conclusion.

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End file.
